Unacknowledged emotion is dangerous and makes for a shallow existence. I feel deeply and have not quite bridged the autonomy gap where self-soothing is adequate to the task of taking the wounded child in me by the hand and walk him home. Nor do the stopgaps of tobacco and alcohol stifle the emptiness as they once had - insincere romance provides less and less sustenance for the heart and ego aspirations shimmer more and yield less solid contentment · Yet i am an organism plagued by fatigue and hunger; my crude sensory appendages are weary from cortisol poisoning and i suffer from endorphin withdrawal from concessions to a “once noble but run hard put away wet too often” physique. However, more and more answers to longstanding questions seem to rise like submerged ancient edifices emerging again from a draining muck. Maybe i should get my meal cooking . ..¿
I was raised on a diet of metaphor and was never quite sure when pop was waxing poetic; or simply yanking my chain. He did in the end resort to demands for concrete examples when our discussions wandered to far off course. I am living in a coastal town of Viet Nam - it is full to the rafters with grifters and charlatans mixed in amongst a hard to uncover cadre of loving hearts - how much of that statement is projection and how much observation, i struggle to discern daily · Phone prompting is not part of my rituals any longer, but from prior experience as a private detective in the texting-rich reality of the Los Angeles Superior Court i know there exists a tribal conceit based largely on access to numbers that somehow translate into relationships which sometimes intersect reality but from what i could tell mostly resembles a lot of people in a noisy bar trying to get noticed.
Reality for me now is the death rate in the land of my birth being presided over by thugs anointed by mid-level managers from the corporate overlords masquerading as captain of industry but are more likely now 1st, 2nd and 3rd generation “trust fund” babies wallowing in more dividends than most of the planet would ever know, even if they realized biblical lives of 1,000 2,000 or 3,000 year’s. For example, on fb this morning i saw information i have no doubt is relatively accurate: 3 men have more wealth than half of all of ‘merica & 8 men have more wealth the 3.5 billion people on the planet, roughly 1/2 of all living people. It’s small wonder i grow weary of foreigners i meet propagating the party line of “Greed is Good” in the midst of a nation they spend more time and effort attempting to transplant their previous lifestyle while simultaneously convincing themselves _______fill in the blank. I grow weary of trying to decipher the “who’s in, who’s out” of the high school clique politik used to justify ______fill in the blank.
And just like discussing my own conflicted feelings about a family i have all but disowned, you must understand these are decent, caring, loving people i am alluding to - and know much less about than they apparently do me. I miss running, i miss my family, i miss drawing-painting&carving, i miss love. It pleases me that i’ve reached a state in my demise where i can take unabashed pleasure in using those things which have always seemed to create the most difficulty in my life - words, or is it ideas ¿? the two are barely distinguishable any longer. I remember declaring repeatedly as pop was in the process of shuffling off his mortal coil, “if he can string two words together, they are words worth paying attention to. Today on my way back from a necessary foray into society, i stopped to purchase fried bananas for my neighbors - there is always a plethora of people about and i hoped the greasy banana pulp would blunt the dreariness of 8 weeks of shade and 6 weeks of brutal to less brutal rainfall. Their stalwart leaning into the calamity is a lesson i hope i never forget.
But before i could return back with my sumptuous booty, i circled back to the old man sitting at the bench gnawing on his apple, and before i could even get the bag of six fried bananas opened - i was faced with as many open hands from the local renegade, but ever beauteous hag cotillion with their perfect polka dot hats, and clear confidence that what was in my bag, would be theirs - he the old man sat on bemused, but clearly disinterested in what i’d turned full circle to offer, then and later after i’d replenished my humble offering. If this event is the last notable occurrence in my continuing trek to death, i have to number myself as one of the more fortunate persons in these the seeming last days of our human species, if for no other reason than to meet face-to-face some of the bravest, most resilient and cheerful members of our species - yet being unable to convey the full scope of that miracle · somehow feeling forgiven, when i could barely do so for myself. AIN’T LIFE GRAND ¿?
jts 23/10/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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